
II ii 



tiiiiil 




Class Tc^ tjljtj I 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Verses Stories 
and Translations 



Verses Stories 
and Translations 



BY 

MARY S. PETTIT 




PRIVATELY PRINTED 

MINNEAPOLIS 

1915 






COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY 
GERTRUDE R. PETTIT 



THE TORCH PRESS 

CEOAR RAPIOS 

IOWA 



M3 1915 
©CI.A4 06583 






^ CONTENTS 

\j Verses 

Childhood . 
The Difference . 

Fragment — ''KhAS AND 
ALACK" 

A Plea .... 
Tree-tops 
A Treasure Ship 
Lullaby — ''Lullaby, 
lullaby" . 

Fragment — "ONCE AS 
WALKED" . 

Lullaby — "The winds 
CRY loud" . 



By the Lakeside 
Stories 

Tiger-Lilies . 
Violets .... 
The Most Beautiful 

Maiden in the World 42 
The Land of Sunshine . 58 



9 

10 

12 
13 
14 
15 

16 

18 
19 



25 
33 



6 Contents 

Translations 
The Brain-Mender . . 77 
Lazarine . . . . 91 
The Emerald Ring . . 108 
Perrette's Last Bouquet 122 
The Paradise of Ani- 
mals 138 



Verses 



CHILDHOOD 

Ah, little laughing maiden, 
With floating golden hair. 

With bright eyes ever sparkling 
And life without a care, 

You little know the pitfalls 
That wait your dancing feet; 

You turn in scornful wonder 
When told that joys are fleet. 

Then live your joyous life, dear, 
As long as e'er you may. 

And brighten with your laughter 
Our shadowed elder day. 



lO Verses 



THE DIFFERENCE 

The leaves that fall when the wind 
blows cold, — 
I wonder where they go. 
Do they like to lie on the hard, 
bare ground, 
And be covered by the snow? 

A leaf blew into my room last night 
And I dreamed that it spoke to 
me. 
It shivered and shook with fear of 
the dark, 
And was sad as sad could be. 

This morning I looked where it lay 
on the floor. 
And the leaf was all jolly and 
red. 
Do you think that my dream was 
because / was sad? — 
rd forgot to take dolly to bed. 



Verses 1 1 

I guess that the leaves just tumble 
and toss 
And don't really care where they 

go. 
They haven't got hearts and they 
haven't got heads, 
So they wait for the wind to 
blow. 

But I'm a small girl who is sorry 
or glad, 
And always must think and feel ; 
So I guess I must try to do it quite 
well 
And make things come right a 
good deal. 



12 Verses 



FRAGMENT 

Alas and alack for Edna, 

Alas for Donald, too; 
However long they pondered 

They couldn't tell what to do. 

Away from home in the twilight. 
They had followed a firefly's 
spark; 
They hoped they should catch a 
fairy, 
But they only got lost in the 
dark. 



Verses 13 



A PLEA 

Little sparrow on the tree, 
Sing a spring-time song to me; 
Sing of sunshine, sing of clover. 
Sing of flowers the wide world 
over. 

Oh, I know that winter's here, 
That the land is cold and drear; 
But 'tis sure that summer's coming. 
And I weary for bees' humming. 

Can't you sing it, soft and free. 
From your perch upon the tree? 
Let's forget the wintry weather. 
Call up summer, both together! 



14 Verses 



TREE-TOPS 

The trees are green and rustling, 

The trees are very tall ; 
And I cannot reach around them 

Because I'm yet so small. 

The little leaves are dancing 

And playing in the sun ; 
And the sun-rays slip in past them 

Wherever they can come. 

And when I lie close under 
And look up very high, 

I can see the tree-tops pointing 
Like fingers, to the sky: 

And the sky is blue above them. 
And it seems to me so queer 

That the trees so big and mighty 
Should be to me so dear. 



Verses 15 



A TREASURE SHIP 

Wide is the lake, deep is the lake — 
The lake my little boat shall take; 
If I set it on its breast, 
It will bear it to the west. 

For the little waves, they run 
Toward the setting of the sun; 
And the wind, it lightly blows 
Toward the place of gold and rose. 

Now the sky is gold in hue 
Where before 'twas blue as blue; 
It is like the look of honey 
Or the glistening of money. 

And if my little boat I send 
Westward, where the waters end; 
Then Til see its sails all pink, 
Floating on the great lake's brink. 

And I hope that if some day 
It should come again this way, 
I shall find it full of gold — 
Just as full as it will hold. 



1 6 Verses 



LULLABY 



Lullaby, lullaby, 
Here as you lie, 
Close on your mother's breast, 
Taking your needful rest; 
Close now your eyes, my sweet. 
Shut lids for sleep are meet: 
Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Lullaby, lullaby, 

Dream-things are nigh; 

Moons for the taking. 

Stars in the making. 

All things you love the best, — 

Fairies and all the rest: 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Lullaby, lullaby. 
Hush, do not cry! 
Soon you will wake again, 
Reach for your toys again, 
Rest now from all your play, 
Rest till another day: 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 



Verses 1 7 



FRAGMENT 

Once as I walked in the land of 

dreams 
Taking my way by devious streams, 
I came to a lake so clear and bright, 
It seemed but a well of sapphire 

light. 

Dazzled at first, I lowered my eyes. 
But raised them again to a glad 

surprise; 
For over the waters there moved a 

boat 
Lying as light as a lily afloat. 



1 8 Verses 



LULLABY 

The winds cry loud, my sweet, my 

own. 
The winds are wailing o'er the sea, 
The waves shriek back in agony, — 
Lie soft, my little one. 

Thy father's boat, my love, my life. 
Is tossing on the tossing sea, 
The waves snatch at it hungrily, — 
Sleep sweet, my baby dear. 

Thy father's corpse, my babe, my 

own. 
Is tossed and heaved on the restless 

sea. 
Is sunk and lost eternally, — 

Dream glad, my only one. 



Verses 19 



BY THE LAKE-SIDE 

Calm lies the lake beneath the 
evening sky, 

Like a clear gem reflecting sunset 
hues 

Caught from the flaming glory of 
the west; 

Long lines of living light and pur- 
ple shade 

Lie all athv^art its gleaming surface 
smooth, 

Stretching a radiant bridge from 
shore to shore. 

So placid is its beauty and so pure. 
It seems that he who once has 

gazed thereon 
Can ne'er again be vexed by petty 

cares: 
Like some Madonna looking from 

the wall 



20 Verses 

With eyes made glorious by celes- 
tial calm; 

So do these limpid waters lap the 
soul 

In peace that passeth knowledge 
evermore. 

And though, alas, when once again 
we face 

The fret and worry of another day, 

The heart may lose its vantage of 
sweet calm. 

Yielding again to stress of circum- 
stance; 

Yet sure such moments are not 
wholly lost. 

Nor all in vain is Nature's healing 
touch ; 

For to the man who once has looked 
with seeing eyes 

And carries deep within his deep- 
est soul 

The image of an utter loveliness, — 

To him there will remain some 
lasting good : 



Verses 2 1 

A stronger purpose and a larger 

life; 
A stouter heart to beat his way 

through pain, 
To that high end toward which his 

face is set. 

Or if, perchance, he be of weaker 
mould. 

Fitted to suffer, not to buffet Fate, 

Then shall such grace of cherished 
memory 

Be unto him a sanctuary through- 
out life, — 

A refuge whither sometimes he 
may flee 

From human ills, and taste untaint- 
ed bliss, 

God-given, in the beauty of the 
world. 



Stories 



TIGER-LILIES 

UP among the hills, in a dis- 
tant country, there lived once 
on a time, a simple and kind- 
ly people — farmers and herdsmen 
and vinedressers — who knew little 
of the great world beyond the hills, 
but did their simple tasks in con- 
tent and neighborly kindness. 

One touch of romance bright- 
ened their homely lives and bred 
in them a love for beauty not often 
found among so plain a people. 

Where the valley broadened to- 
ward a swift-flowing river, there 
lay a field of tall, fair lilies, thick- 
grown and tangled. No one knew 
whence or how the seed had been 
carried, but though old men re- 
membered when a few of the plants 
had first appeared, now, quick- 



26 Stories 

spread in the marshy soil, they cov- 
ered hundreds of feet, blooming 
all summer long with a strange, in- 
tense beauty — a white radiance 
almost painful by very loveliness. 
They were the pride and joy of all 
the countryside and the thing first 
shown to any stranger who chanced 
to pass that way. 

Now, in one of the cottages of the 
valley there was born one winter 
a girl-child, wondrously beautiful 
from her birth, with a white beauty 
that made all who saw her name 
her ^^the lily child." 

And as year by year she grew in 
sweetness and in beauty, the people 
came to care more for the fair lily 
maid who could give back love for 
love, than for the indifferent blos- 
soms; so that these were neglected 
by all but the child herself. She 
loved the flowers with all her heart, 
and every spring watched eagerly 
for the first green buds, hailing the 



Tiger-Lilies 27 

final outburst of white bloom as the 
deepest delight of the year. 

But after a few years the seasons 
began to bring her disappoint- 
ment. With the same eagerness she 
watched the swelling buds, but 
when they broke into flower, her 
quick joy was marred. The great 
sheet of bloom was lovely indeed, 
yet it seemed to her to lack some- 
thing of the vivid purity, — the 
white, starry radiance that she re- 
membered in her earlier childhood. 

And each year her disappoint- 
ment deepened. When she asked 
the people about her whether they, 
too, did not think that a blight had 
come to the lily field, they an- 
swered carelessly, sometimes tell- 
ing her playfully that it might be 
so, that she had drawn the sweet- 
ness and fairness from the field 
flowers to keep for herself. 

And when the breeze bore their 
words over the blossoms, one watch- 



28 Stories 

ing might have seen a shadow, ever 
so slight, yet which did not pass 
with the lifting of their heads. 

The winter of the child's elev- 
enth birthday was unusually se- 
vere, with little snow to cover the 
bare earth and gaunt trees, and as 
spring approached, she waited with 
more than usual longing for the 
blooming of the lilies, seeking to 
persuade herself that she had only 
fancied their beauty abated. 

They were unusually late in 
flowering, but one morning when 
she looked from her eastern win- 
dow, she saw at last the sheet of 
white, and in the morning light it 
looked to her as fresh and fair as 
in her memories. 

With a cry of joy she ran out 
and straight across the fields to the 
place of the lilies. But alas! when 
she reached them she was sad- 
dened; for some were tainted by 
mildew, some marred by worms — 



Tiger-Lilies 29 

not one shone upon her, star-white 
and perfect from its background of 
leaves. 

She paused a moment, then 
pushed in among them, drawn on 
by fairer looking flowers beyond. 
On and on she pressed, but only to 
new disappointment until, sobbing 
and blinded by tears, she tripped 
on the tangled roots and fell. 

Her hand thrown out to save 
herself, touched water. She strug- 
gled up, startled, and turned, as 
she thought, toward home, but she 
could not see over the great plants 
and she was confused by sudden 
fear and by a buzzing murmur 
that seemed to arise all about her. 
No matter what way she turned, 
she felt the water growing deeper 
while the intertwined roots seemed 
to give way under her feet. After 
a few minutes of struggle her foot- 
hold broke quite away and with a 
little cry she sank into the river. 



30 Stories 

Now, two neighbors, watching 
the child's impetuous rush from 
the house, had seen her disappear 
among the lilies, and when the 
swaying of the flowers marked her 
path toward the river, they called 
a warning to her; then, getting no 
answer, hastened to the bank of the 
stream. They were but just in 
time. Reaching the shore at a point 
below where she had fallen, they 
saw her borne toward them by the 
swift current, and wading waist- 
deep into the water, they caught 
her and bore her, dripping and un- 
conscious, homeward. 

All that day she lay, weak and 
pale, too much exhausted to re- 
member or to wonder what had be- 
fallen her. All day the neighbors 
came, singly or in groups, to ask 
how she was doing, and through- 
out the valley the talk was only of 
the child and her escape from peril. 

The next morning, almost recov- 



Tiger-Lilies 3 1 

ered from her accident, the girl 
went somewhat sadly to the win- 
dow to look again at the lilies, but 
at her first glance she started back 
with a little cry that brought her 
mother to her side. 

Instead of a sheet of white, sway- 
ing and rippling in the morning 
breeze, there was now a mass of 
vivid color — gleaming yellows 
and flaming scarlet and vermil- 
ion, all streaked and spotted in 
strange gorgeousness. 

The mother, catching up the 
half-terrified child, cried, point- 
ing: — ^^Ah, the lilies, the lilies — 
tigers that would have killed my 
child!" 

And others looked and won- 
dered, and the name then given 
them held. ^'Tiger-lilies" they 
were for all time and objects of 
horror and aversion to the country 
people. 

Strangers might admire their 



32 Stories 

flaunting beauty, but those who 
knew their story turned from them 
shuddering; for they believed that 
the lilies had in truth been proud 
and jealous, giving back hatred for 
the child's love; and so at last ex- 
changing their white purity for a 
new and sinister coloring. 



VIOLETS - 

I HAVE brought you some vio- 
lets, mama," said a little boy, 
nestling into his mother's lap. 
''Can't you tell me a story about 
them? They are pretty enough to 
have one — see, they are like wee 
faces looking love at us, are they 
not, mama?" 

''They are, indeed," answered 
his mother, "and they have many 
stories. I will tell you the one I 
like the best. 

"There was once a fair young 
princess imprisoned in a gloomy 
castle. She was very lonely and 
very weary of her captivity and al- 
most her only pleasure was to walk 
in a little courtyard filled with 
many kinds of garden flowers — 
tulips and roses and lilies and as 



34 Stories 

many more as you can think of. 
And as she walked among them, 
the blossoms danced and nodded 
and whispered of many things: — 
of glory and fame; of the power of 
beauty; and the joy of life and 
freedom. And watching them her 
loneliness grew more bitter. 

*'But often the maiden turned 
from the garden blooms to a se- 
cluded corner of the court, w^here, 
almost hidden by the taller, gayer 
plants, had grown up some little 
wood-violets; and these she loved 
better than all the lilies and the 
roses. She told them her sorrow 
and her longing for freedom in the 
bright, wide w^orld, and the little 
blossoms comforted her with their 
beauty and their sweet perfume. 
And as they bent to the breeze, 
they seemed to say softly: 'Love 
— love and wait — wait and love — 
love — love.' And day by day the 



Violets 35 

princess learned a truer patience 
and a sweeter resignation. 

^'She knew little of her own 
story. As far back as she could 
clearly remember she had been, as 
now, a close prisoner. Yet she had 
a few memories of other things 
known in early childhood: of wide 
fields bright with sunshine; of the 
glint of armor on marching men, 
and the piercing bugle call; of 
merry troops of shouting children, 
and herself one of them ; of a noble 
and soldierly man to whom all oth- 
ers bent the knee, and whom she 
had called 'father.' And dearest of 
all her memory pictures, that of a 
fair and stately woman, who, hold- 
ing her in her arms as a little child, 
had looked at her with beautiful 
eyes deep with a brooding, passion- 
ate love; — and this, she felt sure, 
was the image of her mother. But 
again she remembered that face 



36 Stories 

cold and rigid, with closed eyes, 
and there came back her ill-defined, 
childish sense of loss, amounting to 
physical desolation and darkness. 
Then came a strange, dreadful 
night ; a hasty awakening by an un- 
known voice; the sound of whis- 
pers, loud and ominous in the dark ; 
a flicker of lights down broad halls ; 
a hurried journey through the 
blackness, and then — her prison. 
She had often tried to weave these 
broken images into a connected 
story, but it was to no purpose. 

^'Now, as she gained peace and 
quiet of heart, new dreams began 
to visit her; and these looked, not 
to the past, but to the present and 
future. They were changeful vis- 
ions of castle-court and meadow 
and woodland, bright-hued in sun- 
shine, or grey and veiled in mist. 
But one figure reappeared always 
— that of a youth, strong and stal- 



Violets 37 

wart and good to see. He was at 
first a mere lad, sporting with his 
comrades, or practicing knightly 
exercises in happy carelessness. 
Yet there was at times a certain 
dreaminess in his eyes, and grad- 
ually she could see him grow in 
earnestness and manly purpose as 
he grew in years. And in her 
dreamy loneliness, she wove her 
fancies about this figure. What if 
he should one day come to her of- 
fering freedom and love? Did not 
old stories tell of many a captive 
maiden freed through the devotion 
of some brave man who knew her 
story and pitied her? If this 
should, indeed, prove her deliverer, 
could she repay him as his service 
would deserve; could she give him 
her heart and her life? For the 
visions were after all vague, and the 
far-seen figure commanded noth- 
ing warmer than wonder and in- 



38 Stories 

terest. So her day dreams brought 
both hope and an added wistful 
sadness. 

^'Thus passed the long, quiet 
days, in sorrow and unrest, yet with 
a certain guarded peace and sweet- 
ness. And the kindly sky and the 
little flower faces gave comfort. 
So she grew softly among her flow- 
ers to the perfect dawn of woman- 
hood. And after so long waiting, 
looking one day from her chamber 
window she saw far off, on the 
hitherto untraveled road, a light 
dust cloud and the flash of steel in 
the sunshine, and her heart gave 
one choking throb and stood still in 
a great hope and fear. Then look- 
ing closer she saw and knew the 
youth of her dreams, but clearly 
seen now in truest manly beauty 
and strength, and deep peace came 
to her, and her heart went out to 
him in faith and love. 

''Then she went into the garden 



Violets 39 

and plucked a handful of violets 
and so waited. 

'^Soon he came to her with the 
truth of her story; how she had 
been seized and carried ofT by a 
strong and subtle foe of her house; 
how the king, her father, had died 
of grief and despair, leaving his 
people a prey to the enemy and his 
little daughter helpless; how the 
story, told him in boyhood, had 
ruled his thought and formed his 
will to the one purpose of winning 
back her right; how he had stirred 
her people to her service, until now 
the usurper was conquered and 
powerless and broad lands and 
eager subjects awaited her return. 
And he told her, too, how his pas- 
sionate pity had grown to a more 
personal feeling as he bore hard- 
ship and danger for her he had 
never seen, until now, with the first 
sight of the fair, sweet figure in the 
garden, his devotion had flowered 



40 Stories 

into perfect love and all the world 
had taken on a sudden brightness. 
Yet he would not force her will, 
but would give her all needful help 
as simply as before, awaiting her 
answer with steady patience. 

"When he had done, she spoke 
no word but looked at him smiling 
through quick tears and held out 
the flowers. He caught the little 
hand with its gift, and bending to 
her lips, said with a great tender- 
ness in his voice: ^My love, my 
sweet wood-violet,' and so led her 
from her dream-garden out into 
life and the world. 

"And in the garden-court there 
was rich perfume and merry dan- 
cing of blossoms as before; but the 
violets remembered the princess 
and whispered her story among 
themselves though all the other 
flowers forgot. They had learned 
the secret of hope and loving sym- 



m 



Violets 41 

pathy, and have kept it ever since 
to add charm to their delicate 
beauty and make them the sweetest 
of all flowers." 



THE MOST BEAUTIFUL 
MAIDEN IN THE WORLD 

SHE was a very beautiful prin- 
cess: for her eyes were deep 
blue like the summer sky; her 
hair was as golden as the sunshine; 
her skin was like the mingling of 
snow and roses, and all her move- 
ments were as graceful as the mo- 
tion of the grasses when the wind 
bends them. She was a very rich 
princess, too : for her father's lands 
stretched out to north and south 
and east and west of her palace 
gates, — lands fertile and well- 
watered, where many flocks grazed, 
and crops grew plenteously. 

But she was not happy, for she 
was very lonely. Her mother had 
died when she was a little child; 



Most Beautiful Maiden 43 

she had no brothers or sisters, and 
her father gave little heed to his 
daughter, excepting to direct her 
education as he thought fitting for 
a future queen. Nurses, attend- 
ants, instructors — these she had, 
but nobody to play with, nobody to 
whom she could tell her childish 
wishes and fancies, nobody to give 
her any deep affection. 

One day she was sitting listlessly 
in the garden, looking dreamily at 
a great bed of violets. Suddenly, 
as a whifif of wind stirred the blos- 
soms, she started forward with a 
little cry. Lyingflat on the ground, 
fast asleep, was a manikin, tiny 
enough to be hidden even by the 
low-growing violets. As she bent 
over him, he opened his eyes and 
stood up, looking at her, first, in 
surprise; then, with a certain 
breathless intentness. 

Half frightened and wholly 



44 Stories 

amazed, she sat silent, with hands 
clasped, returning his intent gaze, 
until at last he said slowly: 

'Tlease, will you tell me, are 
you, perhaps, the most beautiful 
maiden in the world ?'^ 

The princess smiled, half sadly, 
and answered simply: 

"I cannot tell you, I have seen 
but few maids. I think I am fairer 
than my nurses, but they are old and 
perhaps were once prettier than I." 

There was another long pause 
while the queer little creature ex- 
amined her from head to foot. 
Then he said: 

"Will you follow me?" 

"Where are you going? Do you 
wish to lead me far?" 

"No, it is not far away. I want 
you to go home with me — I live 
within yonder hill." 

"Within the hill ! How can that 
be?" 



Most Beautiful Maiden 45 

''Come with me and I shall show 
you." 

So she gathered up her long 
skirt and followed, asking no more 
questions. 

He led her straight toward the 
hill at which he had pointed and 
up a narrow, winding path to a 
little ravine. Here he pushed 
through a thicket and she had to 
watch the movement of the bushes 
in order to follow, for they quite 
hid him. 

In a moment more they came to 
a cleft in the blufip and suddenly 
the little fellow was gone. 

Bewildered and half-frightened, 
the princess sat down on a very 
uncomfortable stone and waited. 

Presently there w^as a grating 
noise and slowly a bit of the rock 
forming the bluff was turned, mak- 
ing a small opening. In this her 
little guide appeared, much out of 



46 Stories 

breath, and after puffing and blow- 
ing, asked if she could squeeze 
through. This she accomplished 
with some damage to her frock, 
and after following again over 
stones and pebbles along a twisting 
way, she came out into an open 
space. 

Here were dozens of little fig- 
ures, somewhat like her guide, all 
ugly, all active, all evidently 
thrown into great excitement by 
her arrival. Gradually, with much 
buzz and hum of conversation, they 
gathered about, staring, question- 
ing her first acquaintance, then 
talking excitedly to one another. 

After a few moments several 
came forward together and knelt 
at her feet, holding up a slender 
golden coronet set with sparkling 
jewels. 

"Will you be our queen?" they 
asked in chorus. 

''How can I be your queen?" 



Most Beautiful Maiden 47 

she asked wonderingly. ^^Soon I 
must go home again. Moreover, I 
do not understand why you wish 
me to rule over you." 

There was a whispered confer- 
ence, then one little figure came 
forward alone. 

"I will tell you the meaning of 
our request," he said. '^Long ago 
we had a king who ruled us wisel}^, 
but he left no heir. When he came 
to die, those gathered at his bed- 
side asked him to whom he wished 
to leave his crown and power and 
he answered thus: ^Your lives, 
my people, are simple and orderly. 
You have little need of a law- 
maker or of a strong hand to gov- 
ern you ; but one thing you do need 
— someone to whom you can look 
for help and sympathy; someone 
whom you can reverence and obey, 
and in obedience to whom, you can 
keep strong your hope and pride as 
a people. Now, what I would have 



48 Stories 

you do when I am gone, is to seek 
out the most beautiful maiden in 
the world and set my crown upon 
her head. Her gentleness and love- 
liness will help and uplift you and 
give you happy years.' So saying 
he died. 

"Since then we have sent messen- 
gers far and wide, seeking the most 
beautiful maiden in the world, but 
we have not found her. Some- 
times a messenger has come back 
telling us of some beautiful girl, 
but then has followed another, sure 
that he has seen one more lovely in 
another place; yet none has ever 
felt certain that his was the true 
one — not until to-day. When 
Heinrich awoke and saw you he 
thought at first that he was dream- 
ing. Never before had he seen 
anyone who was as lovely as the sky 
and the clouds and the summer 
flowers, and at once he thought that 
perhaps you were the most beauti- 



Most Beautiful Maiden 49 

f ul maid in the world and the queen 
for whom we have waited so long. 
He brought you here and we all 
know that you are more lovely than 
anyone whom we have ever seen. 

^'Now we have waited and 
watched through long years and 
we have gone wherever tidings of 
famous beauty have led us, yet we 
have never before been satisfied ; so 
we are sure, one and all, that you 
are our true queen if you will but 
accept this crown." 

The little princess hesitated ; then 
said earnestly: 

^^But how can I accept it? I 
cannot stay within the hill, but 
must go home again very soon." 

The spokesman bowed and with- 
drew and again there was a low 
hum of discussion. 

In a few moments he returned, 
and bowing again, said: 

"Most beautiful princess, even 
that, we think, need not hinder, if 



^O Stories 

you are willing to be our queen. 
Our dying king bade us look, not 
for a strong ruler, but for a beauti- 
ful girl. We live, as he said, simply 
and quietly and follow out the rules 
which he laid down for us long 
ago, and through our years of wait- 
ing and searching, we have learned 
to depend upon ourselves from day 
to day. 

^'But look at us, dear maid; — 
we are little and brown and ugly 
and we live among these hard, dead 
stones. Sometimes we go out and 
see the bright, living beauty of the 
upper world, but no bit of it be- 
longs to us. From day to day we 
look at these ugly rocks and the 
dark earth and then at one an- 
other, and we are sorrowful and 
discouraged. I think we should 
almost have grown to hate our- 
selves and each other but for this 
quest set us by our wise old king. 
It has given us something to hope 



Most Beautiful Maiden 5 1 

for and to dream about and now its 
fulfillment will bring us happiness, 
if you can do what we ask. You 
will live in your own world and be 
of it; — nor should we wish, even 
if we could, to shut you up in our 
underground home. But we shall 
know that you belong to us; you 
will visit us sometimes, and we 
shall have a part in your thoughts. 
Will you take the crow^n with our 
love and duty?" 

The princess smiled, dropped on 
her knees and bent her head until 
her little subjects, standing tip-toe, 
could set the crown upon it. Then 
she rose and said: 

''I am not very old yet and I do 
not know how to be a queen, but I 
shall try to learn so that I can be a 
good one. I must go back now, 
for my people will be seeking me; 
but I shall take the crown with me 
and set it in my chamber, and every 
day I shall remember that I belong 



52 St 



ones 



to you and you to me. Soon I shall 
visit you again, if you will send me 
a guide until I have learnt the way 
alone. 

**One thing more I want to say: 
— you have chosen me because you 
think I am the most beautiful maid 
in the world, but you have not seen 
all. Now if, when I am your 
queen, you should find someone 
who seems to you prettier, you must 
not forget that I shall no longer be 
your rightful ruler, nor fear to 
wound me by telling me the truth. 
Will you promise me this?" 

A murmur of assent answered 
her, and, bidding them goodbye, 
she started home. 

During the years which fol- 
lowed, she often visited her little 
subjects, learning their ways and 
helping them with simple counsel. 
In this new interest she lost her 
loneliness and grew as bright and 
happy as she was beautiful. 



Most Beautiful Maiden 53 

While she was still young, she 
became queen of her father's land; 
then she was married and a few 
years afterward a little daughter 
was born to her. Still she visited 
her hill-people and learned, year 
by year, to love them better. 

So the years passed quietly until 
her babe had grown into a tall, 
slender girl of seventeen. Then 
one day, standing with her before 
a mirror, the queen looked startled 
and then very thoughtful. 

'What is it, mother?" asked the 
girl. "You look at me so strange- 
ly, — almost sadly." 

The queen smiled and kissed her 
daughter quietly. 

"No, I am glad, not sorry, my 
child, but I cannot tell you to- 
night. To-morrow you shall know 
of what I was thinking." 

The next day she bade the girl 
dress herself in a simple gown of 
soft, white stuff ; then put a garland 



54 Stories 

of fresh roses on her head and, giv- 
ing her a bunch of long-stemmed 
blossoms, led her into the garden 
where the violets still grew in their 
quiet corner. She seated herself 
and told her daughter the story of 
her kingdom within the hill; then 
took her hand, saying: 

''Now I want you to visit these 
little folk." 

She led her within the hill and 
solemnly assembled all her little 
subjects. 

Standing before them, with her 
daughter beside her, she said: 

''Long ago, you chose me for 
your queen because you thought me 
more beautiful than any other maid 
you had ever seen, and all through 
these years of my womanhood you 
have served me faithfully. But 
beauty fades with years and though 
I have thought little about it and 
you have shown no dissatisfaction, 
I must long since have ceased to re- 



Mcst Beautiful Maiden 55 

mind you of the sky and the clouds 
and the summer flowers and all the 
loveliness of those growing things 
from which you are shut away in 
your daily lives. Surely it is time 
that I should lay aside a crown 
which no longer belongs to me." 

She paused a moment, then went 
on with a little catch in her voice: 

^'I should not wish to ask you to 
replace me by a queen of my choos- 
ing. You must use your own eyes ; 
yet it would be easier for me to 
give up this crown, w^hich has so 
long been dear to me, if I could 
see it set upon my daughter's head. 
To me she seems more beautiful 
than I ever was, but you must 
judge for yourselves." 

She led the girl forward where 
all could see her and waited. 

There was quick, low speech 
among the people; then all knelt 
excepting three or four who pressed 
forward eagerly to the queen's feet. 



56 Stories 

One of these spoke clearly: 

"My queen, I speak not for my- 
self, but for all your subjects. Your 
daughter is as fair as a young girl 
can well be, and if we had a crown 
to offer, we should gladly give it to 
her. But, dear madame, look once 
more in the glass, or better, ask 
your daughter. It may be that your 
cheeks are no longer like the sum- 
mer roses, nor your skin like sun- 
bathed lilies — I do not know. But 
I do know that your eyes are deep- 
er and softer than in your girlhood 
and that for us, who have so long 
looked to you for help and sym- 
pathy, your face has each year 
gained more of the sweetness which 
gives meaning to the world's beau- 
ty. We have but one crown, my 
queen, and that is yours for all 
your life." 

The queen's eyes filled and she 
said softly: 

"Are you sure, are you sure?" 



Most Beautiful Maiden 57 

There was quick assent from all 
the little people; and silently, as in 
her girlhood, she knelt before 
them, placing the gleaming crown 
on the ground. Again she bent her 
head and let them set the crown 
upon it. 

Then she rose and said : 

"I thank you; I thank you all, 
and I shall keep this little crown 
for all my life without further 
doubt or fear." 

So she ruled them happily all 
her life, and at her death they 
chose her daughter queen ; nor was 
there ever lacking a fair woman of 
her house to guide and help the 
little hill people. 



THE LAND OF SUNSHINE 

THERE was once a country 
of rich, fertile lowlands, and 
soft rolling, wooded hills, 
called the Land of Sunshine; for 
from year's end to year's end the 
sky was always blue and the air 
bright with sunlight. 

Yet flowers and grass and corn 
and all sweet growing things 
throve there, for a broad river 
flowed down from neighboring 
mountains through the valley, and 
springs in the lower hills fed many 
a clear brook. There were showers 
too, sometimes, — warm and re- 
freshing, but the clouds never gath- 
ered thick or solid over the sky, 
and the raindrops fell sunkissed. 
And the people throve like the 
crops that they tended, growing 



The Land of Sunshine 59 

tall and strong and comely, — a 
goodly race and a happy one. 

But over this fair land and its 
lighthearted people there hung 
ever a menace of disaster — a 
trouble touching their else care- 
free lives with a strange forebod- 
ing. 

Bordering the Land of Sunshine 
on the west lay a great forest of fir 
trees, stretching for many miles 
black and gloomy against the sky. 
At times there gathered over this 
forest dark, sombre storm-clouds, 
and the people in the sunny valley 
heard peals of thunder, rushing 
winds, and the crash and rending 
of mighty trees. At such times ter- 
ror filled the land; strong men 
ceased their work to watch the far- 
off storm with dread in their eyes; 
mothers caught up their children, 
soothing them with trembling 
voices. Not only was the sight and 
sound of elemental violence in it- 



6o Stories 

self terrible to this gently nurtured 
folk, but tradition added to their 
fear. The story had come down 
through generations, that deep in 
that forest there lived a powerful 
and malevolent giant, whose rage 
caused storm and darkness, and 
some day, so ran the sombre 
prophecy, — some day, though none 
knew when, that rage would surely 
find vent beyond the forest, and 
storm and earthquake would sweep 
the valley bare of life, leaving only 
sun-bathed desolation. 

From this fate there was but one 
possible escape. It might be, that 
if the king's eldest born should 
choose to face the monster for his 
people's sake, and should come 
home victorious, he would win 
safety for his kingdom. And from 
time to time young princes had 
taken the task upon themselves and 
had gone bravely forth. Some had 
never returned or been heard of 



The Land of Sunshine 6i 

more; a few, it was said, had come 
back after weeks or months of wan- 
dering, broken and aged, having 
found no giant, but spent by the 
horror and loneliness of the forest. 
For many years no such attempt 
had been made, and these adven- 
turous princes, too, had become 
traditional. 

At the time of my story there 
was in the king's palace no prince, 
but a motherless girl of eleven 
years, the center of her father's love 
and of his people's. 

It was never meant that she 
should know so soon, this threaten- 
ed danger, and all believed her ig- 
norant, but she had pieced together 
broken bits of conversation — ser- 
vants' chatter, talk of her play- 
mates, whispers between her father 
and mother, while the queen yet 
lived — until all was clear to her, 
and though with a child's strange 
reticence, she kept it to herself, yet 



62 Stories 

is was often in her thoughts. In her 
childish imaginings she was one of 
those princes who had gone forth 
with such gay courage; but the 
dream expeditions always ended 
successfully. In her visions she re- 
turned with the monster's horrid 
head at her saddle-bow to be greet- 
ed by wild acclaim from all the 
country side. Then the reality 
would break through her fancies; 
she was after all but a little maid, 
and weak; never, never could she 
even try to conquer giants, however 
great the need — and many times 
she wept that it was so. 

Every year on the princess' 
birthday there was great rejoicing 
throughout the land, and all the 
children, gentle and simple, rich 
and poor, made festival with flow- 
ers and games and music. For her 
eleventh birthday the plans were 
unusually elaborate. The little 
princess and many hundreds of 



The Land of Sunshine 63 

children from the capital city were 
to be taken out into the country, to 
a beautiful spot lying towards the 
west, where they could amuse 
themselves all day long with dances 
and sylvan games and contests. 

Soon after daybreak the merry 
procession left the town. First 
there were outriders and trumpet- 
ers — young nobles of the court, in 
gay uniform.s and mounted on 
prancing black horses. Then, seat- 
ed in a great shell-shaped coach of 
scarlet poppies and drawn by eight 
milk-white ponies, came the prin- 
cess, dressed as a flower queen. A 
crown of starry white blossoms 
bound her loosely curling golden 
hair and in her hand she held, as a 
sceptre, a great white lily. Her 
robe, too, was of clinging white 
stuff, but over it were thrown 
strings of tiny flowers of many pale, 
bright colors. With her radiant, 
childish beauty set ofif by the simple 



64 Stories 

sumptuousness of the flowers, she 
was a vision of fairylike loveliness 
— one deeply imprinted on many 
hearts and held throughout life as 
a dearly cherished memory. After 
the royal carriage, came the mil- 
itary escort — a company of boys 
who formed the princess' special 
body-guard, and following them a 
long line of carriages and riding 
ponies with happy, excited chil- 
dren, all in holiday dress and 
adorned with flowers. Of the 
grown people, some had already 
gone to the chosen place to make 
needful preparations; others, who 
had w^aited in the streets or houses 
to see the pretty procession pass, 
followed after. 

The princess was very happy 
and all through the morning she 
watched the spectacles prepared 
for her amusement or joined in the 
games light-heartedly. But in the 
afternoon, as the sun dropped to- 



The Land of Sunshine 65 

ward the west and threw the great 
fir-wood into sharper relief, the 
forest and its mystery took hold on 
all her thoughts. She had never 
been so near it before, and her eyes 
would turn wistfully out over the 
bright fields that lay near her to 
the gloom and darkness just beyond. 
At last, in a pause of the games, 
when for a few moments she was 
unnoticed by her attendants, she 
started off alone toward the w^est. 
Straight through the fields she 
went, half unconscious of her direc- 
tion — a pretty figure, if anybody 
had looked to see, as she walked 
waist-deep in the rippling green 
grasses, the sun that bathed the 
level fields brightening her hair 
into a golden halo. She walked on 
slowly, almost forgetting forest 
and giant in sheer joy of freedom 
and pleasure in the soft, murmur- 
ing breezes, the little field flowers 
and blue and golden butterflies. 



66 St 



ones 



Soon she had a great sheaf of rosy 
clover and yellow-hearted daisies, 
but was led ever onward by a pret- 
tier flower or a brighter butterfly 
— a little Persephone of the fields 
going heedlessly toward the deep, 
sunless pine-gloom. 

It was not until the shadows cast 
by the first trees fell dark across 
her path that she quite realized 
how far she had walked and that 
she was alone in this place so 
dreaded by all her race. Her first 
impulse was to run back quickly to 
the sun-steeped, peopled carnival 
ground, but other instincts pre- 
vailed. She felt very far away 
from her companions and the shim- 
mering fields between looked very 
wide. Then, too, the strangeness 
of the forest, though it awed her, 
yet enticed, and in its new and curi- 
ous fashion it was very beautiful. 
The great trees were more mag- 
nificent than anything she had ever 



The Land of Sunshine 67 

seen or imagined, and between 
their swaying tops she could still 
see the friendly blue sky. The first 
trees, too, grew somewhat wide 
apart and the sunlight filtered 
through their branches, lying in 
delicate, golden tracery over the 
shadowed carpet of soft, elastic 
pine-needles. But deeper than all 
her childish curiosity and love of 
adventure was the thought that she 
was almost face to face w^ith the 
mysterious enemy of her country, 
and there surged over her once 
more the strong attraction of the 
old princely stories. So that it was, 
after all, true courage that carried 
her forward down the long, green 
aisles of the forest. 

There was little underbrush and 
she walked on quickly, noticing 
curiously the strange things about 
her, yet too eager to reach her goal 
for any delaying. It was like a 
new world to her in whatever di- 



68 Stories 

rection she looked: overhead the 
tall, rustling trees that seemed to 
stretch up to the sky; underfoot the 
aromatic needles or exquisitely del- 
icate mosses; about her, green 
shadows pierced through by fret- 
ted sunlight. There were pale 
flowers, too, that she had never seen 
before, brilliant woodpeckers and 
chattering squirrels. 

She walked far without tiring, 
but at length, as the ground grew 
rough and broken and the shadow 
under the more closely growing 
trees, deepened, weariness and fear 
came upon her at once and she sank 
sobbing to the earth. Every sound 
added to her terror: the soughing 
of the light wind in the tree-tops 
seemed full of sadness and of 
threat; the crackling of a twig, the 
whir of a bird's wing, the ripple 
of water in an unseen stream: — 
all w^ere frightful, while the green 
gloom seemed peopled with dim. 



The Land of Sunshine 69 

horrible shapes pressing forward 
from all directions. She buried 
her face in the moss and, pressing 
her hands over her ears, lay quiet 
until, at last, utterly spent with 
fright and weeping, she fell asleep. 

When she awoke the shadows had 
changed from green to purple and 
a silvery radiance over the trees 
and a star or two shining down be- 
tween the branches, showed her 
that it was night. Yet she was 
calmer; and though, perhaps, no 
less afraid, she arose and made her 
way forward once more — forward 
or back, she no longer knew in 
which direction she was going. 

Her progress was now a contin- 
ual struggle and she was often 
forced to throw herself to the 
ground for rest. Hunger and thirst 
beset her now and then, too, though 
several times she got refreshment 
from a clear stream, or a bush of 
scarlet berries. 



"JO Stories 

At last when the shadows were 
deepening toward the second night- 
fall, she became aware of a new 
sound not far distant — the move- 
ment, she felt sure, of some living 
thing. Choking down her fear she 
made her way toward it resolutely, 
through an almost impenetrable 
tangle of undergrowth. She strug- 
gled on, blinded by wet leaves, 
scratched by thorns, caught a doz- 
en times and held fast — then sud- 
denly emerged into an open space. 

She stopped, catching her breath 
in surprise and fright. About 
twenty feet from her there was a 
huge, rough boulder, in shape 
somewhat like an altar or an anvil, 
and beside it, drooping forward in 
an attitude of weariness and sad- 
ness, was a human creature. He 
was enormous, — quite a foot taller 
than the tallest of her stalwart 
countrymen, and his girth was pro- 
portionate. But as she looked 



The Land of Sunshine 71 

closely at him, what most impressed 
her tender child's mind was not his 
mighty, sinewy strength, but his 
look of despair. She had expected 
to find a fierce, raging monster, 
joyful in his wickedness, and here, 
instead, was this man for whom 
she felt pity instead of hatred. 

She walked forward timidly and 
said: 

^^Who are you and why do you 
live in the forest?" 

The giant raised his head quick- 
ly and she saw that he was almost 
blind. A great wonder spread 
over his gray old face as he asked 
slowly and with difficulty: 

^What are you and whence do 
you come?" 

She answered quietly: 

"I come from the Land of Sun- 
shine and I am a princess of that 
country." 

Then she questioned him and he 
answered. He spoke in a thick 



72 Stories 

guttural voice, as one long unac- 
customed to speech, and, though 
his language was hers, he used a 
rough dialect, so that it was hard 
for the princess to understand. 

But at last she had his story. It 
seemed that long before the giant 
was born his grandfather had been 
king of a mighty race dwelling in 
the clefts of the mountains. He 
did not know where, excepting that 
it was probably far westward. To- 
ward the end of the king^s reign an 
evil man had gained much power 
among the people, and at the king's 
death his son, then a youth, was 
overpowered by conspirators, car- 
ried off, and with his girl-wife, set 
down in the forest. 

At first they tried to find their 
way home again, but after repeated 
failures they gave up and settled 
to a forest life. Children came to 
them and in that warm and pleas- 
ant climate, with roots and berries 



The Land of Sunshine 73 

for food and the trees for shelter, 
they had lived happily enough un- 
til their sons grew to early man- 
hood. Then, moved by ambition 
for their children, they had tried, 
over and over again, to find their 
own home, sure that their people 
would, long since, have tired of the 
usurper's rule. 

But all efforts were fruitless. 
Arms of the woods seemed to 
stretch interminably toward the 
west, and when, once or twice, they 
did get free from the forest, it was 
only to find impossible crevasses 
or waste stretches of sand or stone. 

After they had at last given up 
all hope they wandered gradually 
toward the east finding it pleasant- 
er in that direction. One day they 
came, by chance, upon this open 
spot with the great altar-shaped 
rock and a huge, rough hammer of 
stone lying beside it. In sport, one 
of the youths threw the hammer at 



74 Stories 

the rock and they were startled by 
a heavy peal of thunder and a vivid 
flash of lightning. Repeated trials 
proved that storm always followed 
a blow of the hammer upon the 
rock. Over and over again, they 
tried it, sometimes in sport and 
boyish daring; sometimes hoping, 
when the storm grew fierce and the 
earth shook beneath their feet, that 
perhaps a way of escape into the 
great world might be opened to 
them.^ 

So they took up the great stone 
hammer and fixed it above the altar 
as a lasting memorial of the prin- 
cess' courage and devotion to her 
people and a witness for all time 
that henceforth none need dread. 



^The connecting part of this story has been lost. 

G. R. P. 



Translations 



THE BRAIN-MENDER 
By Felix Duquesnel 

IN the great square of Ispahan, 
old Abou-Hassan had a drug- 
shop. Shall we call it a drug- 
shop ? — For old Abou-Hassan was 
quite as much a sorcerer as an 
apothecary. If he had no equal in 
pointing aright the instrument dear 
to Moliere, he made also marvel- 
ous cures; read hands like the late 
Desbarolles; predicted the future 
simply from an account of the 
past; treated with mysterious 
words the most rebellious wounds; 
and finally, he consulted coffee- 
grounds and mandrake roots pulled 
on Mount Chiraz during the sev- 
enth night of the New Moon. 
From all parts of Asia people 



yS Translations 

flocked to ask him for miracles and 
to implore help from his art. 

The doctors of Ispahan were an- 
gry. So, from under their pointed 
astrakan caps, they had opined that 
appeal must be made to the magis- 
trate for justice upon this spoil- 
trade who cured without a diplo- 
ma. And the medical body had 
gone in great pomp to its dean, 
Sidi-Bougredane, to ask his inter- 
vention. 

He, a man of ponderous mind 
and in touch with wisdom, uniting 
the prudence of the serpent with 
the cleverness of the crow, caressed 
his beard and gave himself over to 
reflection. Then, having dozed 
and asked counsel of Shiva, god- 
dess of good resolutions, he de- 
cided that the best thing was to do 
nothing and let the water flow. 

''Let us take care," he said, "not 
to anger the populace : the torrent 



The Brain-Mender 79 

would overleap the dyke and, furi- 
ous at the obstacle, would sweep 
us away like straws in its brutal 
course! Since the common people 
are for Abou-Hassan, let us bend 
to their will. Even that will be 
better than seeing the Faculty of 
Medicine flame up like dry wood !" 
This good advice was followed 
and Abou-Hassan was allowed to 
continue, without opposition, the 
course of his little business, for 
which he had had a sign engraved 
in letters of gold on a background 
of mosaic: 

"THE POSSIBLE IS IMMENSE." 

The day of the great turquoise 
market — you know those beauti- 
ful Persian turquoises which are 
unchangeable and never fade be- 
cause they do not know weariness 
such as causes the green death of 



8o Translations 

their Caucasian sisters, — on this 
day, I say, his shop swarmed with 
the crowd eager to demand health 
and to seek a cure for its ailments. 
And, indeed, it was a curious 
place and truly strange, that shop 
filled with vases of enamelled 
earthenware and with transparent 
jars, symmetrically arranged and 
bearing odd inscriptions. For be- 
sides the conventional medical 
terms, that all countries of the 
world borrow from the Latin lan- 
guage, — Diascordium, Theriaca^ 
or Pulvis cinchonae — known to the 
illiterate as "quinine powder," — 
there were others more suggestive, 
such as these, for example: extract 
of illusion^ for the aged; grains of 
good sense^ for the use of every- 
body; pills of independence^ for 
the magistracy; — or yet others: 
court-plaster, for those who have 
meddled with edged tools] essence 



The Brain-Mender 8i 

of foresight^ for generals and com- 
missaries of the army; spirits of 
modesty^ for musicians and men of 
letters; and on the rounded side of 
an enormous mortar filled with a 
fatty substance having metallic and 
golden gleams, there stood out 
these words in huge letters: ^^Oint- 
tnent for Greasing Itching Palmsy 
And this mendicament was not the 
least sought after, — the spatula 
was thrust into it ceaselessly, 
scarcely able to supply the demand. 

Toward the end of the day, when 
the hour of calm comes, — "be- 
tween dog and wolf," as the saying 
goes, — let us say between day and 
night, — Abou-Hassan saw enter 
his shop a person of distinguished 
appearance, but of undecided bear- 
ing: his face was sad and vague, he 
was long as a day of waiting, rather 
soft than flexible, rather flabby than 



82 Translations 

supple, more like a leek than a 
reed, and his blue eyes swam un- 
certainly. 

*^Sir, what do you wish?" asked 
old Abou-Hassan. 

''I do not know," replied the 
new-comer, '^I suffer from a strange 
malady and come to seek a rem- 
edy." 

'^How do you feel?" 

''There it is! My conscience is 
undecided and troubled; I can no 
longer distinguish between good 
and evil ; my ideas lack logical or- 
der; I go first one way and then 
the other, without knowing why; 
in short, it seems to me that my 
brain is unbalanced and needs re- 
pairing." 

''What is your name and what is 
your profession?" 

"My name is Ali-Gaga, and I 
am a lawyer." 

"Eh ! Your state of health seems 



The Brain-Mender 83 

grave to me! Anyhow, we shall 
see what the trouble is. Sit down 
there — " 

And the old doctor took up a 
hammer of tempered steel. With a 
sharp little blow upon a cold chisel 
he lifted the top of Ali-Gaga's 
skull as he might the lid of a box. 

Ali-Gaga felt a current of cool 
air through his brain and began to 
sneeze, while the operator, after 
pressing a watch-maker's glass 
over his right eye, attentively con- 
sidered the lawyer's skull. 

"Atchi! I think decidedly that 
I am catching cold in my brain," 
exclaimed Ali-Gaga, sneezing 
again. "Atchi! there it is again I 
I shall have a severe cold in my 
head." 

"It won't amount to anything; 
besides, I am going to take out 
your brain and that will greatly in- 
convenience the cold, for it will 



84 Translations 

have nowhere to vent its malice. 
Don't move, it will only take a 
minute." 

And armed with a sort of silver 
skimmer old Abou-Hassan gently- 
lifted out Ali-Gaga's brain, with- 
out shock and all in one piece. He 
laid it with extreme care upon a 
marble table and examined it in de- 
tail, sighing several times, clacking 
his tongue, shrugging his shoul- 
ders, — all which did not show 
complete satisfaction; in short, his 
face expressed only partial con- 
tent. 

^^Well?" asked Ali-Gaga anx- 
iously. 

^'Well! there is much to be done. 
Between ourselves mending won't 
do. It must be completely made 
over; you shall have it for sixty 
tomansJ^ 

^^Hum! That is dear." 

"Take it or leave it. But just 
think! Here, look at this little 



The Brain Mender 85 

mirror : it is your conscience. It is 
dim, very dim; it must be newly 
silvered and repolished ; it has been 
completely clouded by skepticism. 
As to your brain, it is honey- 
combed by false ideas which have 
penetrated it in all directions, and 
your logic is entirely broken down. 
Nevertheless, it is plain that you 
were born intelligent and honest; 
but your good qualities have been 
choked by ambition. In short, it is 
all in very bad condition; there is 
six weeks' hard work on it. After 
that I shall give you back a clear 
conscience and a brain like new; 
and truly, that is not dear at sixty 
tomans.^^ 

While saying this he covered 
Ali-Gaga's brain with a glass cyl- 
inder, a sort of cheese-bell such as 
watch-makers use to protect the 
works of watches during repairs. 

Then he closed the empty skull 
and fastened it with a bit of glue. 



86 Translations 

''Now," he added, "you may 
come back in six weeks and I shall 
put everything back into place." 

''Eh! Eh!" exclaimed Ali-Gaga, 
arising staggeringly, "that has a 
queer effect on me; my heart feels 
light and my head perfectly emp- 
ty. — I miss something." 

"It always has that effect for a 
moment, but you will get used to it 
very soon, and in a week you'll 
think no more about it. Goodbye 
then!" 

The six weeks passed and Ali- 
Gaga's brain, put into condition 
again, was like new, the work hav- 
ing been done with the utmost care. 

Abou-Hassan was delighted with 
his work, rejoicing at the ap- 
proaching return of his client, 
whose joy and astonishment he 
counted upon in advance, and at 
the thought he laughed into his old 
white beard. 



The Brain Mender 87 

But Ali-Gaga did not meet his 
appointment. 

Weeks became months, months 
became years, and still Ali-Gaga 
did not come! 

Eight years had passed in this 
way since the day when Ali-Gaga 
had come to Abou-Hassan, and the 
latter, who had grown impatient at 
hearing nothing from his client 
and was thinking of leaving his 
shop and retiring to the country 
with the fortune he had made, said 
to himself that the best thing he 
could do would be to sell Ali- 
Gaga's brain at second-hand to 
some amateur in need of supple- 
mentary mentality. He had even 
begun to bargain with a magis- 
trate, when one day at sundown 
someone knocked at his door. 

"It is I," said a voice which he 
seemed to recognize. 

And Ali-Gaga entered, a little 



88 Translations 

embarrassed, like a man who is not 
quite on time. 

"Excuse me;" he said, '^I am a 
little late.'' 

^^Damel only eight years, and 
you come in the nick of time: I 
was on the point of making over 
your brain at second-hand — " 

'^Ohno! Don't do that! No in- 
deed, no, nonsense! I think a great 
deal of my brain and I've come to 
get it." 

"Without impertinence, why 
have you delayed so long? Was it 
for lack of money? I should have 
given you credit." 

"No, it was not on that account: 
I will tell you my reasons. After 
my former visit I threw myself into 
politics : first I became deputy, then 
minister, — even Prime Minister. 
And I thought that in that new sit- 
uation my conscience was useless; 
that it would, perhaps, be trouble- 
some, — and that my brain, at all 



The Brain Mender 89 

events, was assuredly superfluous." 
^^Eh! Eh! Not such bad reason- 
ing as things go — " 

^^So I left all that encumbrance 
with you for safe-keeping." 
^^Well, then, — and to-day?" 
"To-day — the shah has put us 
out at the door. There has been a 
change of ministry. — I am no 
longer of any importance and am 
retiring to private life. So then, I 
said to myself, that although I 
needed neither my brain nor my 
conscience while managing public 
afifairs, for which I care not a whit, 
it is different now when it is a ques- 
tion of managing my own affairs, 
which are, assuredly, much dearer 
to me; and accordingly I have 
come to take back both from you. 
Here is your money. Go and — " 
"Sit down there," said Abou- 
Hassan, and picking up again the 
little hammer of fine steel and the 
cold chisel, he reopened Ali-Gaga's 



90 Translations 

skull at the same place and replaced 
the brain, after carefully dusting it. 

''There you are!" he said; ''and 
now, how do you feel?" 

"Very queer! My head feels 
heavy — as if I had sick-headache." 

"That will be all right! It is 
only lack of habit." 

"Ah, but it is intolerable — " 

"How then?" 

"Here is my conscience bestir- 
ring itself already; it reproaches 
me." 

"The explanation is simple: it is 
making up for lost time; and then, 
too, I put a new spring in it. After 
a while you will find that it will be 
calmer — " 

"You know, old Abou-Hassan, I 
told you the last time that I lacked 
something. — This time it is just 
the opposite, it seems to me that I 
have too much of something." 



LAZARINE 
By Andre Theuriet 

THE old cabriolet which 
rolled along with a noise of 
clanking iron on the road 
from Chauvigny to La Roche- 
Posay, stopped short at the en- 
trance to a village, and Saint-Mar- 
tial, who was dozing under the 
hood, opened his eyes suddenly 
upon hearing the coachman jump 
to the ground and swear in his 
Poitevin dialect. 

"What is the matter?" asked the 
traveler. 

'^I have lost the hub from one of 
my wheels. Heavens! — We shall 
have to spend the night here, and 
lucky enough if we find a wagon- 



92 Translations 

maker who can mend my car- 
riage!" 

Saint-Martial was fifty-four 
years old. At that ease-loving age 
the prospect of spending the night 
in a chance inn did not at all please 
him; so the coachman's informa- 
tion put him into a bad humor. He 
was hoping to arrive before night 
at the Trappist Abbey of Font- 
gombault where he had planned to 
make a retreat, and this unlucky in- 
cident irritated him. 

Saint-Martial was a disillusioned 
man. A subtle and delicate man 
of letters, he had dreamed in his 
youth, like so many others, of lit- 
erary fame, and first of all the the- 
ater had tempted him. But his 
plays had had only moderate suc- 
cess and after the war of 1870 he 
had let himself drift into politics. 

For twenty years he had sat as a 
deputy at the Palace-Bourbon; 
then, disgusted with electoral meth- 



Lazarine 93 

ods, outraged by the spectacle of 
trickery, overreaching and shady 
transactions, he had left parlia- 
mentary life in complete intellec- 
tual and moral disorder. He had 
drained to the dregs the bitter cup 
of renunciation and did not know 
where to turn. During those bit- 
ter hours when all desire for life 
seemed lost, memories of a pious 
childhood had returned and he had 
clutched again at religious ideas as 
at a plank of safety. That is why, 
this October evening, he was going 
toward the Trappist A*bbey of 
Fontgombault. The Abbot was a 
friend of his and a hospitable house 
annexed to the monastery offered 
to a number of men, disillusioned 
like himself, the beneficent peace 
of a half secular, half monastic re- 
treat. 

His ill humor passed, however, 
at sight of the friendly and smil- 
ing landscape before his eyes. The 



94 Translations 

road, before entering the village, 
skirted a promontory bordered by 
chestnut trees and looked down 
upon steep, shady streets, gay with 
little terraced gardens. In front, 
on a rocky prominence, stood the 
crumbling, but still noble ruins of 
a twelfth century chateau. Deep 
down in the narrow, wooded val- 
ley, a sinuous river wound between 
files of yellowed poplars. The sun, 
a red disk, was sinking behind the 
woods, and the purple color of the 
clouds was reflected in the calm 
water where a fisherman, guiding 
his boat, came and went, lifting 
sweep-nets, his slender, busy figure 
silhouetted in black against the 
rosy surface of the river. 

''What is the name of this vil- 
lage?" asked Saint- Martial of the 
driver. 

"Angles. — And the river which 
you see below is the Englin." 

''Angles!" — These two syllables 



Lazarine 95 

had for Saint-Martial a half famil- 
iar ring. Where and by whom had 
he heard them spoken before? Cer- 
tainly the name was not new to 
him. He made an effort to remem- 
ber, and little by little the odd 
name was associated in his mind 
with certain confused impressions 
of the theater. Slowly, like a ghost 
emerging from shadow, a feminine 
image arose in his memory, the 
pretty face of an actress, outlined 
against a piece of scenery. 

Ah, yes indeed! Angles was the 
village where Lazarine used to own 
a cottage of whose verdant solitude 
she boasted to her friends, and of 
which she spoke as a pleasant re- 
treat for the time when she should 
leave the stage. 

Lazarine Percival was formerly 
one of the most charming actresses 
of the Gymnasium. At the time 
when Saint-Martial still believed 
in his dramatic career, she had 



g6 Translations 

taken the leading role in his best 
play. He had even had for her a 
platonic tenderness which was still 
one of the most fragrant memories 
of his youth. After the war they 
had lost sight of each other. Laza- 
rine had left Paris to make foreign 
tours, and the rumor had gone 
abroad that after amassing a small 
fortune, she had decided to realize 
her dream of a country life. 

While he was passing along the 
sloping streets, between old-fash- 
ioned houses with carved gable- 
ends and overgrown by roses, Saint- 
Martial saw again Lazarine Per- 
cival in the supple, comely grace 
of her twenty-two years, — slender, 
brunette, with soft color, waving 
black hair, beautiful coffee-colored 
eyes, caressing and dreamy, smiling 
red lips, and an expression of al- 
most credulous candor; — all which 
made her, at the theater, an excep- 
tional creature. "And now," he 



Lazarine 97 

thought, '4t would be curious if I 
should find her again in this vil- 
lage, where an accident compels 
me to stop. — I must enquire at 
once." 

As soon as he was installed at the 
inn, he asked if there were in the 
village a lady named Lazarine. 
The hostess' reply disappointed 
him: there was nobody of that 
name in the town. But he reflected 
suddenly that in coming to the 
country Lazarine would probably 
have dropped her stage name, and 
he tried again, adding that the per- 
son in question was also called 
''Mme. Percival." 

''Mme. Percival !" cried the land- 
lady; "Ah, yes indeed, we know 
her. Such a charming and excel- 
lent woman and so kind to the 
poor! She lives not far from the 
church in a pretty house with gar- 
dens running down to the river." 

Saint-Martial rearranged his toi- 



98 Translations 

let and a boy pointed out to him 
Lazarine's house. A dull beating 
of his heart oppressed him. 

"Will she remember me, and 
will she wish to receive me?" he 
thought while ringing at the gate- 
way, from which, across the court- 
yard blooming with chrysanthe- 
mums, he could see the house-front 
covered with flowering vines. 

An old servant-woman wearing 
a high Poitevin cap, came hastily 
at his ring and asked him in. Mme. 
Percival was at home. He gave 
his card and the servant took him 
into a little parlor. Just in looking 
at that elegant and orderly room he 
recognized the correct and refined 
taste of Lazarine, who had always 
been an exquisite little housekeep- 
er. Autumn roses were in the vases, 
and on the walls, which were cov- 
ered with old-rose silk, there hung 
rare engravings and two or three 
good landscapes. A wood fire 



Lazarine 99 

burned quietly in the fire-place. 
Skeins of wool were spread out on 
a work-table and several books lay- 
on the rosewood desk. 

^'How shall I find her?" he said 
to himself; '^much changed, doubt- 
less, in twenty-five years." 

"What! is it you?" cried a rich 
and pleasant contralto voice be- 
hind him. 

He turned and saw before him 
Lazarine holding out her hands. 
Ah no, she had scarcely changed. 
Her hair, it was true, was white 
and very slightly powdered, and 
there were fine wrinkles at the cor- 
ners of her mouth and eyes; but 
she had kept her slender, supple 
figure, the grace of her smile, and 
the clear flame of her deep brown 
eyes. 

He grasped her two outstretched 
hands cordially and kissed them; 
then, as Lazarine expressed sur- 
prise at his visit, he explained to 



lOO Translations 

her the fortunate accident which 
had compelled him to stop at 
Angles. 

^'What a pleasant surprise and 
how glad I am/' she replied, clap- 
ping her hands. ''You know you 
must dine with me. I shall send 
word to the people at the inn." 

She went out for a moment to 
give directions to the Poitevin ser- 
vant, then came back happily, made 
her guest sit down facing her and 
began to question him again : 

'Where were you going, then, 
when your carriage so kindly came 
to pieces at my door?" 

"To Fontgombault." 

"To the Trappist Abbey? — Do 
you intend becoming a hermit?" 

"Upon my word, almost that," he 
replied. 

He confided to her the bitterness 
left by his parliamentary life, his 
disgust with politics and with the 



Lazarine lOl 

mode of life of his contemporaries. 
He spoke so bitterly that an affec- 
tionate compassion softened Laza- 
rine^s large eyes. In order to recall 
him to less sombre thoughts, she 
changed the subject and talked of 
old times. Together they called up 
the years of their youth, past hours 
of companionship at the theater, 
the day spent in rehearsal, the even- 
ing in the actress' box, — distant 
hours which, at the time, were ex- 
empt neither from troubles nor 
sadness; but which now, seen 
through the prism of memory, 
seemed to them fortunate hours. — 
She recalled to him friends dead or 
passed from knowledge, successful 
plays in which she had created 
roles. — Then she told him how, 
tired of her fictitious stage life, she 
had left it all, one fine day, to come 
and bury herself in a green corner 
of Poitou. 



I02 Translations 

"You know/' she said, smiling, 
"I was always, at bottom, a little 
bourgeoises 

The announcement of dinner 
surprised them in the midst of this 
retrospective talk. — An excellent 
dinner, served on a flower-decked 
table in the dining-room finished 
in white, with the crackling of a 
pretty fire of beach knots in the 
high fireplace. Lapped in com- 
fort and tender attentions, Saint- 
Martial looked with emotion at 
that friend of former days, reju- 
venated in the firelight; for her 
powdered white hair vivified her 
expressive features and cast an au- 
rora of youth into her eyes. He 
felt himself comforted, calmed, and 
refreshed. His appetite returned; 
he did honor to the dinner and at 
dessert sipped appreciatively a 
foamy old wine of Vovray of which 
Lazarine had even poured out a 
finger for herself. 



Lazarine 103 

"I remember," she said, "that 
you were fond of Touraine wines. 
You always ordered them when we 
took supper with comrades at the 
restaurant during the rehearsals of 
your play. — To your health! Mod- 
esty apart, my Vouvray is good and 
you will not find its like at the Ab- 
bey." 

The Abbey ! Saint - Martial 
scarcely thought about it any more. 
He had forgotten his projects of 
retreat while looking into Laza- 
rine's eyes. These limpid, coffee- 
colored irises, so gently caressing, 
brought back his youth and poured 
for him a philtre as potent as the 
wines of Touraine. 

"Lazarine," he murmured sud- 
denly, his voice slightly changed, 
"do you know that at one time I 
was very much in love with you? 
I did not dare tell you formerly; 
but so much the worse, this even- 
ing I risk avowing it." 



I04 Translations 

"My dear friend, confidence for 
confidence — I rather suspected it 
then, and each moment I was ex- 
pecting you to tell me. — But you 
were mute as a fish." 

"I was afraid of being black- 
balled. One evening when you 
were leaning against a screen, 
awaiting your entrance upon the 
stage, your eyes gleamed so bril- 
liantly in the shadow that I almost 
betrayed myself. But at that time 
it was said that you were loved by 
Larrien, and my declaration re- 
mained in my throat." 

"How stupid you were! — I ab- 
horred Larrien, and if you had said 
but one word — However, it is old 
history and there is no use in talk- 
ing of it." 

"Let us talk of it, on the con- 
trary," he cried, rising; "I love you 
yet, and you are still the entrancing 
Lazarine of former days!" 

At the same time he took her 



Lazarine 105 

hands and kissed them with de- 
light. Lazarine herself, touched 
by this outbreaking of reborn love, 
enjoyed silently, for a second, the 
captivating surprise; but she re- 
called herself quickly and, escap- 
ing, she broke into ringing laugh- 
ter! 

"No, no, my friend, you would 
not wish it. — Be sensible! Remem- 
ber that I am an old woman — '' 

"You!" he protested with pas- 
sion, "you are adorable!" 

"No, I am a good bourgeoises 
and I think that when one is nearly 
fifty the weaknesses are no longer 
permissible. At our ages it is un- 
wholesome to put another disillu- 
sionment upon the heart. Folly 
against folly, it is better that you 
should go to the Abbey!" 

She laughed. When he saw^ that 
she was turning the affair into a 
joke, he sighed and sat dovv^n again, 
ashamed of his own intoxication. 



io6 Translations 

They went back to the parlor, but 
the conversation languished now in 
spite of Lazarine's efforts to en- 
liven it. Saint-Martial had fallen 
back into his black mood. 

At ten o'clock he took his leave 
and when she went with him into 
the antechamber, his hostess mur- 
mured: 

"Thanks for your welcome visit. 
— I do not know when we shall see 
one another again; so let us kiss 
each other like good old friends.'' 

They kissed and parted sadly. 

The next day Saint- Martial was 
rolling along on the road to Font- 
gombault. The sunshiny morning 
was impregnated with a penetrat- 
ing smell of autumn; the woods 
were colored red and violet, and 
through the air, alive with filmy- 
winged insects, distant bells rang 
for the fete of la Toussait. This 
delicious autumnal adieu made 



Lazarine 107 

Saint-Martial think again of Laz- 
arine's adieu, and he sighed. 

''After all/' he thought, ''she was 
right. These dreams are not for 
our age, and roses out of season 
leave behind them a bitter per- 
fume." 

He proceeded sadly toward the 
Abbey, and when the carriage 
stopped before the hospitable house 
reserved for strangers, he read with 
resignation the inscription cut over 
the porch : "Cella continuata dul- 
cessit." 



THE EMERALD RING 
By M. Charles Foley 

CLOTILDE D'ALVAREY 
had been separated from her 
brother during the flight 
from Lavenay. She and all the 
Vendeans who, with her, had gone 
astray, had been tracked, surround- 
ed, crowded together like fright- 
ened cattle, then thrown into the 
nearest prison ; — and in such num- 
bers that the jailers did not even 
take the trouble to search them. 
Would they not have ample leisure 
to despoil the captives when, one 
by one, they should pass through 
their hands a few moments before 
going out to death? 

In that prison, the old, forest- 
girt stronghold of Maranges, 



The Emerald Ring 109 

which had fallen into the hands of 
the Blues, in the silence and op- 
pression of thick, dark walls, time 
seemed retarded, then stopped, in a 
complete ignorance, — an inter- 
minable despair. 

There, never guessing that 
spring was already making green 
again the surrounding woods, — 
the prisoners, confined in the long, 
underground galleries of the for- 
tress, shivering with cold, and pal- 
lid in the shadovv^, dreamed of the 
past as they lay, fully dressed, on 
their pallets of damp straw, their 
eyes wide open in the darkness; or 
else they gathered, panting, under 
the heavily barred air-hole, 
through which there came to them 
the little air and light by which 
they still lived. 

The gentle Clotilde had, for 
weeks, suffered this agony with 
resignation when, one day, in 
breaking the piece of bread given 



I lo Translations 

her by the jailer, she found a letter, 
folded and refolded for better hid- 
ing. 

Profiting by the moment when 
the prisoners were appeasing their 
hunger, she went alone to the nar- 
row window, and in the last gleam 
of greenish light, colored by the 
bushes growing in the dry foss, she 
could secretly read this: 

"My sister, the turnkey of the 
dungeons has been heavily bribed 
and will let me enter the prison to- 
night. Since I can save only you I 
shall not speak to you. I shall 
carry no light, in order not to 
awaken any of your companions in 
misfortune, for the least stir would 
ruin us. But the jailer tells me 
that your pallet is the first at the 
right of the door. When you are 
lying there, if in the darkness you 
feel fingers seeking your fingers, 
do not be frightened ; give me your 
hand, rise and let yourself be led 



The Emerald Ring in 

out into the night without speaking 
a word. We shall not pause until 
we have come out from the dun- 
geons by secret, roundabout ways; 
we shall not speak to each other 
until we have escaped and are far 
within the forest. I only ask you 
to slip onto one of your fingers the 
ring I gave you three years ago. I 
remember the heart-shaped emer- 
ald and when I touch it I shall be 
sure that it is you whom I am sav- 
ing. Your brother, 

"Frederic." 

Clotilde, excited, thinking her- 
self in a dream, had scarcely hid- 
den the letter in her bosom, close 
to her heart swelling suddenly with 
joy and hope, when the door 
opened. Several new prisoners 
were thrust brutally in. One of 
them soon came to the window. 

Clotilde, standing there in the 
twilight to look with ecstasy at the 



112 Translations 

emerald ring which she still wore 
on her finger and which was soon 
to bring her deliverance, raised her 
eyes and suddenly recognized one 
of her friends, Huguette de la 
Moiziere. 

There were kisses, effusions, 
tears. 

In spite of all Clotilde's caresses 
and exhortations to have courage, 
the pretty Huguette, once so gay 
and vivacious, sobbed on. At last, 
moved to confidence by the tender- 
ness of the meeting and grief at be- 
ing a prisoner, she said in a low 
voice : 

"Nothing can console me for the 
loss of liberty, for I love your 
brother, dear Clotilde, I adore 
Frederic! We were secretly en- 
gaged before the expedition across 
the Loire, — and I have not seen 
him, since! How grief-stricken he 
would be if he knew that I am 
here! Ah, Clotilde, my misfor- 



The Emerald Ring 113 

tune will bring sorrow to two, my 
death will make two victims!" 

At these confidences, impulsive- 
ly poured out in the expansiveness 
of recent misfortune; at this com- 
plaint, vibrating with the uncon- 
scious selfishness of love, Clotilde 
first trembled, then grew sad. 

After a heavy, thoughtful si- 
lence, she made up her mind and 
replied, very low, in her gentle, re- 
signed voice: 

^'You will not die, Huguette. 
Perhaps you will not even stay long 
in this prison. Listen to this. Some- 
times, in the night, a mysterious 
and charitable protector makes his 
way into the profound darkness of 
this dungeon, touches the pallet of 
a prisoner and gently takes her 
hand. For those who have risen 
noiselessly and let themselves be 
led by the unknown without speak- 
ing a single word, he has brought 
libertyr 



114 Translations 

'^Ah, what a delightfully roman- 
tic escape !'' murmured the pretty 
girl, her imagination already 
struck with this strange hope, and 
more quickly reanimated by the 
improbable story than by the affec- 
tionate arguments of her friend. 
"If this good fortune comes to me, 
Clotilde, you cannot imagine — 
oh no! you cannot imagine, for you 
are not engaged, — what joy I shall 
have in seeing your brother again! 
The thought that the unknown 
may come to bring me liberty, to 
take me to Frederic, will keep my 
eyes wide open all night. It gives 
me a fever. And to think that I 
have nothing from my betrothed, 
— not a keepsake, not a picture, 
not even an engagement ring — to 
sweeten for me this anguished 
waiting!" 

It seemed to Clotilde that the 
will of God was seconding her 
will, and that these last thoughtless 



The Emerald Ring 1 1 5 

words of Huguette's were put into 
her mouth in order to help on her 
own sacrifice. With heart op- 
pressed, with eyes full of tears, the 
poor child drew from her finger 
the ring with the heart-shaped 
emerald and, putting it on her 
friend's finger, said quickly, so 
that sobs might not choke her 
voice: 

"Take this keepsake of my broth- 
er, Huguette; it belongs to you by 
right since Frederic is engaged to 
you. Never take off this ring, not 
even while you sleep." 

"Oh, thanks," murmured Hu- 
guette, touched and grateful, 
though not suspecting the full cost 
of the gift. "Rest assured, this 
ring shall never leave my finger! 
In return, dear Clotilde, what can 
I do for you?" 

"Well," said Mile. d'Alvarey, 
firm now in her renunciation, "for 
to-night give me your pallet at the 



Ii6 Translations 

back of the prison and take mine 
near the door. The jailors have 
thrown fresh straw on your bed, 
while mine is so packed that I 
haven't been able to sleep for a 
week. — And I need rest to renew 
my courage, — the courage that I 
shall need to-morrow especially." 

"Very willingly," exclaimed the 
other, not noticing the veiled mean- 
ing of these last words. ''It will 
scarcely be a privation to me, for I 
cannot sleep. I shall keep think- 
ing of your brother while pressing 
this ring to my lips. I feel as if 
your present were a talisman to 
bring me good fortune." 

''I think so too," Clotilde man- 
aged to say, with a pale smile. 

She said nothing more, fearing 
that with any clearer explanation 
Huguette might guess the truth 
and, generous in her turn, might 
block the plan by refusal. 



The Emerald Ring 117 

Night had come. The two 
young girls caught each other in 
a long, close embrace. Then Clo- 
tilde led Huguette to the bed near 
the door, passed on to the back of 
the room and lay down on the fresh 
straw. 

Both lay a long while — a very 
long while — without sleeping. 
The sister prayed. The betrothed 
kissed the emerald ring. 

But it was Huguette who first 
closed her eyes. 

Far on in the night she was fall- 
ing asleep, when a light groping, 
close at hand, roused her. At first 
she recoiled timidly, then she re- 
membered Clotilde's strange tale 
and, trembling, filled with wild 
hope, she held out her hand to the 
groping hand. Fingers seized her 
fingers and feverishly touched and 
felt of the emerald in the ring. At 
once an arm helped her up, and in 



ii8 Translations 

silence, holding her breath, she fol- 
lowed the unknown, who guided 
and drew her on in the darkness. 

Her elbow struck lightly against 
iron, then her sleeve brushed a 
nearer wall, and Huguette guessed 
that they had passed through the 
open door and had entered a nar- 
row passage. 

They walked faster and faster 
as they went on. After several 
turns in this dark labyrinth the 
floor sloped gradually upward and 
they felt a whiff of warmer air in 
their faces. Then, by a sort of 
postern hidden in the entanglement 
of shrubs, vines, and brambles 
which had overrun the dry foss, 
the two fugitives emerged into the 
darkness of a low wood. Stoop- 
ing, out of breath from haste and 
anxiety, slipping from tree to tree 
under the branches, they were a 
good while in gaining the great 
forest. 



The Emerald Ring 119 

There, in a sort of clearing, 
bathed in moonlight, they stood 
erect, paused, and recognized each 
other with a double cry of surprise 
and joy: 

^^Huguette!" 

^Tou, Frederic!" 

Frederic asked, with choked 
breath : 

''But Clotilde, then, — my sister 
Clotilde!" 

Wrenching herself quickly from 
the kisses of her lover, Huguette 
stammered, suddenly terrified: 

''Clotilde ? — But I do not know ! 
She was sleeping, no doubt, at the 
back of the prison. For this one 
night your sister asked me to give 
her my bed and to take hers — " 

"And the emerald ring? How 
do you come to wear that?" 

"Clotilde gave it to me last even- 
ing, — telling me to wear it always, 
even during my sleep, in remem- 
brance of you!" 



I20 Translations 

Together they understood the 
sublime sacrifice so simply and si- 
lently accomplished. They grew 
very pale and instinctively with- 
drev/ from one another, trembling, 
as if the joy which they felt were a 
culpable joy, a stolen joy. 

The thought came to them to go 
back to the postern, to make their 
way again into the prison. But it 
was impossible. Frederic knew 
that the doors were already closed; 
the conniving turnkey had finished 
his round. Already the radiant 
dawn was show^ing over the tree- 
tops; the reveille sounded from 
afar. 

They understood, then, that 
through Clotilde's innocent deceit 
and heroic falsehood their happi- 
ness was assured. 

That time it was regret and grief 
that brought them together, that 
threw them into each other's arms. 
Frederic mechanically slipped his 



The Emerald Ring 121 

arm around Huguette's waist to 
support her trembling steps. And 
along that green, violet scented 
path, where nightingales sang, 
where the sun rained gold, they 
passed in a close embrace ; but they 
passed slowly and sadly, without 
speaking, without even looking at 
each other, while the emerald of 
the ring, pressed between their 
fingers, bit into their flesh like the 
wound of remorse. And heavy 
tears fell between their lips, — be- 
tween their pallid lips which no 
longer dared to touch one another. 



PERRETTE'S LAST 
BOUQUET 

By Rene Bazin 

SHE was rough, nurse Perrette, 
I and thin and dry as a nail. 
She wore the two-winged flut- 
ed cap of the peasant women of the 
Loire. It did not improve her 
angular face, her pointed nose, her 
lips, shaded by a rather heavy 
moustache. But what did it mat- 
ter? Nurse Perrette had never 
been charming excepting for us. 
We did not think her homely be- 
cause she loved us. We thought 
her very old and even supposed 
that she had always been so; for 
nurse Perrette did not change. As 
far back as I remember, I see her 
of the same age, or, at least, with 



Perrette^s Last Bouquet 123 

the same gray hair, the same black 
eyes, a little wrinkled at the cor- 
ners, which thought only of us and 
which, I believe, could think of 
nothing else. 

She had raised us all. In re- 
compense we said ''thou" to her. 
No one ever knew better how to 
arrange a closet, fold a child's gar- 
ments over a chair or oversee a 
party of loup cache. 

Her cleanliness was extreme. A 
stain horrified her, — much more 
than it did us, alas! and I can hear 
her sighs when, having slipped in 
the grass in the excitement of play 
we returned with green stains on 
the knees of gray knicker-bockers. 

"My little Perrette," we would 
say, "do not tell it; you would not 
have us scolded. '^ 

And late in the night, while we 
were sleeping, watching over them 
like us, Perrette studied the effect 
of Panama-wood and invented lo- 



124 Translations 

tions on our compromised trousers, 
rubbing and stretching them out 
before a discreet fire. 

If we were sick she watched un- 
til dawn, without taking an hour's 
sleep, watchful to replace the cov- 
ers over our arms, listening to our 
breathing, — sad at seeing us suffer. 

How well I remember her ten- 
der, anxious glance when, in the 
days of fever, I awoke and asked : 

"Perrette, have you something to 
drink? I'm thirsty." 

She arose, the old nurse, and 
went to get a warm drink, in which 
she had put flowers of the four 
seasons. We drank, all at once, 
spring, summer, autumn, and win- 
ter; — she believed it, and some- 
thing like a smile of joy illuminat- 
ed her face when, overcome again 
by sleep, our eyelids half closed, 
and head on the pillow, we said to 
her: 



Perrette^s Last Bouquet 125 

"That was very good, Fm asleep 
already." 

Perrette's tenderness led her to 
despotism. In all faith she did not 
admit that anybody else had any 
rights over us, nor that anybody 
knev^ better than she what was fit- 
ting for each of us. She was usual- 
ly let alone. But from time to 
time, she ran counter to the prin- 
ciple of authority. My mother 
would say: 

"Perrette, you may put their 
blue clothes on the children." 

"No madame, certainly I shall 
not put them on. They are too 
warm. My children would take 
cold." 

"You must, and, Perrette, you 
will put them on." 

"No, madame, I prefer to 
leave." 

"Go then." 

Perrette packed her trunk. Oh, 



126 Translations 

it was not hard to pack, — the poor 
long trunk of kid-skin! And then 
at the moment of leaving us, at the 
last look thrown toward us, she 
would burst into tears and remain. 
My mother would forgive her and 
we would go out in the blue clothes. 

Those dear creatures who raised 
us — I do not know whether there 
are any such now. How did they 
come to love, in such fashion, chil- 
dren who were not their own? 
Where did they get such motherly 
passion, such complete self-forget- 
fulness, knowing that some day, 
they would leave the house, and 
that they would not have a moth- 
er's right to follow through life 
those whom they had cradled? Per- 
haps she was thinking of that, 
nurse Perrette, when in the even- 
ing, joining our hands, she had us 
say without fail : ''Saint Perrette, 
pray for us." 

She married, one day, after we 



Perrette's Last Bouquet 127 

were grown. That news surprised 
me: 

^Terrette is to be married." 
He was not handsome either, her 
husband. I saw him when I took 
Perrette to the church — a tall old 
man, who looked like bronze, pant- 
ed on the pavement; with tiny eyes, 
projecting cheekbones and a thread 
of white beard, — straight and 
long. 

I think that he married her for 
financial reasons and that Perrette 
accepted from grief, — because we 
were going away from her. They 
went to live in the country. 

Anyhow, even if Perrette had 
come she would not have seen me. 
I was completing my studies at col- 
lege and soon after I left for Paris. 

But she did not forget. She 
knew that whether schoolboy or 
college student, I had an Easter 
vacation, and each year, early in 



128 Translations 

the morning of Easter day, some- 
body came to the house and left a 
huge bouquet. From the very 
first I made no mistake. I recog- 
nized the favorite flowers of Per- 
rette. If there were three buds on 
her climbing roses, she plucked all 
three and brought to me. For my 
part, I went to thank her. 

Perrette looked forward to that 
annual visit. She rejoiced at it. 
She announced it to her neighbors. 

A strange thing! — when I was 
there she looked happy, only at the 
moment when she saw me, when 
*'her" child of other times ap- 
proached her. Afterward she was 
troubled about everything: about 
the orderliness of the house, which 
she thought compromised by a leaf 
blown in by the wind; troubled by 
the dampness of the floor, which 
she had scrubbed so long that it 
could not dry in a week; about the 
whiteness of the cloth which she 



Perrette*s Last Bouquet 129 

had spread upon an old chestnut- 
wood table; about the quality of 
the bouillon an mil, which she 
had made according to old tradi- 
tions ; and about the time ; and the 
heat; and the cold. The time was 
spent in her saying to me : 

"It isn't very pleasant, is it? You 
aren't comfortable here? It is a 
poor place!" 

Does one visit his old nurse to 
notice such trifles? I should have 
liked to say to her each time : 

"Let us talk of the past, never 
mind your tablecloth, your bouil- 
lon, your flowers, your neighbors, 
but tell me incidents of my child- 
hood, speak to me of the davs when 
I was too little to see, when my 
mother was young and you also 
were not yet old. Oh, Perrette, re- 
member!" 

But no, she seemed to remember 
the past only to offer her useless 
devotion. Even in walking with 



130 Translations 

her along the curving path, cov- 
ered with yellow sand which bor- 
dered the vines and favorite carna- 
tions, her attention was taken by 
the rising clouds, or by stray grass- 
es which marred, as she thought, 
the beauty of the beds of marguer- 
ites. 

Evidently I was still, for nurse 
Perrette, the child whom one cares 
for but does not talk to. 

One day, at Easter time, when 
I came from Paris, I asked: 

^'Is the bouquet in my room?" 

^Wo, monseiur." 

^'No one brought a bouquet for 
me, yesterday?" 

^'No, monseiur." 

'Then Perrette is ill." 

I hastened to her. I found her 
in bed with a high fever and so sad 
that it affected me like a premoni- 
tion. 

''My house is very disorderly," 
she said to me in a low voice. "Do 



Perrette^s Last Bouquet 131 

not mind it. I can no longer take 
care of things. For eight days my 
husband has done it." 

She broke off and, trying to 
smile: 

^'Mr. Rene, you came to get your 
bouquet? It is picked. '^ 

'What, Perrette, sick as you 
are!" 

''I did not go out, you know; 
that would have been too hard. 
But I had the flowers brought to 
me and I waited for a chance. — 
It is there, under the chair." 

Sure enough, under the chair, 
the ends of the stems in water, was 
a whole bunch of anemones and 
carnations, with the air of looking 
about them, a bit frightened and 
out of place in the shadow of that 
room. 

''I shall take them with me," I 
said to Perrette. ''I, myself, am 
the chance. You see I guessed 
that you couldn't come." 



132 Translations 

She talked even less than usual, 
but she looked at me almost con- 
stantly, with her eyes, in which the 
same sole thought, which had been 
there for more than twenty years, 
was more clearly expressed than 
ever: 

"I love you; I raised you; you 
are my child, too." 

And that consoled her. 

But I saw that another idea was 
growing in her mind, and soon that 
idea absorbed her. Perrette be- 
came deeply troubled, redder yet 
about the eyes, more pale about the 
lips. Then, as I tried to distract 
her attention by recalling old 
events : 

"Listen, Mr. Rene," she said 
with a grave expression and a sort 
of authority, "I have a request to 
make of you." 

"Anything you like, Perrette." 

"I brought away from your 



Perrette's Last Bouquet 133 

house several things which I should 
not like to leave behind me here 
if anything should happen to me. 
You know I brought them away 
with your mother's permission, and 
I think a great deal of them. Take 
them with the bouquet and keep 
them. If I get well, I shall come 
for them." 

''But you will get well, Per- 
rettel" 

"One never knows. There, in 
the cupboard." 

What were these things of which 
she was so fond? I did not re- 
member ever having seen in her 
house anything valuable. I opened 
the two doors of the cupboard, — 
a piece of cherry-wood furniture 
which shone in the back of the 
room. In it there was white linen, 
a little coffee pot, a package of blue 
peas, a package of verbenas, scis- 
sors. 



134 Translations 

^'I find nothing," I said. 

She made an effort to turn and 
replied: 

"Behind the wicker basket. i — 
The key, — under the fine blankets, 
— near a sweet apple." 

I took the basket. I took the 
key, near a great green apple, as 
wrinkled as nurse Perrette and 
which had been preserved there, 
intact under its withered skin, since 
the previous autumn. Then I sat 
down in the back of the room and 
opened the box resting on my knees. 

Although Perrette was very sick, 
I at first wanted to laugh. What 
a fine treasure, in fact! On the 
blue cotton lining of the basket, 
rested three objects: a photograph 
of three young children together; 
a narrow collar of rabbit's skin 
with blue satin buttons; and a 
pasteboard sheep, with one foot 
lacking. 

"You have found it?" asked the 



Perrette's Last Bouquet 135 

poor, feeble voice near the win- 
dow. And I stopped smiling. 
And I understood that she had, 
shut up there, in these things of 
such slight value, the inestimable 
tenderness of a memory; that this 
wretched sheep represented for 
her, a witness of past days; that 
this fur collar, formerly worn by 
one of ''her children," was as a 
relic in the eyes of the old nurse. 

I arose, I placed the box in Per- 
rette's bed. She raised herself 
slightly, took the bit of fur and 
said, with emotion: 

''You wore it, Mr. Rene, when 
you were two years old." 

She looked at the broken sheep 
and added: 

"You gave it to me after break- 
ing it. I have always kept it." 

She put her lips to the yellow 
photograph and kissed it. 

"It pains me to leave them," she 
added, "but I must." 



136 Translations 

She thought for a moment, dried 
her eyes, and for the first time in 
her life I saw a flame in them. 
Her face was transfigured, glori- 
fied with all the silent love which 
was at last breaking out, and while 
I remained standing, touched, 
seized with respect for my old dy- 
ing nurse: 

"Mr. Rene," she said aloud, "I 
have never been happy, except in 
your house. Mr. Rene, poor wo- 
men like me make a mistake in 
marrying, because their happiness 
is in their children." 

She broke off and began again, 
raising her hand — her hand that 
had wearied itself for us. 

"Even in after life I shall not 
forget you." 



T went away, carrying under my 
arm the little three legged sheep 
half hidden by my bouquet. An 
end of the rabbit-skin collar stuck 



Perrette^s Last Bouquet 137 

out of my pocket. And the good 
people on the street might laugh. 
As for me, I wept. 

It was the last bouquet of nurse 
Perrette. 



THE PARADISE OF 
ANIMALS 

By Jules Lemaitre 

OLD Sephora dwelt in the vil- 
lage of Bethlehem. 
She lived on the income 
from a flock of goats and a little 
field of fig trees. 

When young she had been a ser- 
vant in a priest's house, so that she 
was better instructed in religious 
matters than is usual for persons 
of her condition. 

Returning to the village she mar- 
ried and was several times a moth- 
er, but she lost both husband and 
children. And from that time, 
though always helpful to men ac- 
cording to her ability, the best part 
of her tenderness was given to ani- 



The Paradise of Animals 139 

mals. She tamed birds and mice; 
she gathered up stray dogs and 
homeless cats; and her little house 
was full of these humble friends. 

She cherished animals, not only 
because they are innocent, because 
they love devotedly those who love 
them, and because their fidelity is 
unequalled, but also because there 
was within her heart a deep de- 
mand for justice. 

She did not understand why 
those should suffer who cannot be 
wicked nor violate a law which 
they do not know. 

Human suffering she could ex- 
plain to herself tolerably well. 
Taught by the priest, she did not 
believe that all ended with the 
dead peace of sheol, nor that the 
Messiah, at his coming, was mere- 
ly to establish the earthly dominion 
of Israel. The "kingdom of God" 
— that, she believed, would be the 
reign of justice beyond the tomb. 



140 Translations 

In that unknown world, it would 
clearly appear that merited pain 
was as expiation. And as for un- 
deserved and fruitless suffering 
(like that of little children or of 
certain unfortunates who have not 
sinned deeply), it would seem but 
an evil dream and would be repaid 
by bliss at least commensurate. 

But animals which suffer; those 
that die slowly — like men — of 
cruel sickness, looking at you with 
gentle eyes ; and dogs whose devo- 
tion is disregarded or who lose an 
adored master and eat out their 
hearts in grief; and horses, weary 
and beaten, whose long workdays 
are but a panting effort and whose 
rest, even, is so cheerless in the 
dusk of narrow stables; and cap- 
tive wild things devoured in their 
barred cages by weary restlessness; 
and all the miserable creatures 
whose lives are only hopeless suf- 
fering and who have not even a 



The Paradise of Animals 141 

voice to tell what they endure or 
to solace themselves with curses; 
— to what end the suffering of such 
as these? What do they expiate? 
Or what con^pensation can await 
them? 

Sephora was a simple-minded 
old woman, but because she was 
hungry for justice she turned over 
these questions often in her heart; 
and the thought of unexplained 
evil obscured for her the beauty 
of the day and the exquisite colors 
of the Judean hills. 



When her neighbors came to tell 
her: 

"The Messiah is born; an angel 
announced it to us last night; he is 
with his mother in a stable a quar- 
ter of a mile from here; and we 
have adored him." 

Old Sephora replied: 

"We shall see." 

For she had her idea. 



142 Translations 

That evening, after caring for 
her goats, feeding her other ani- 
mals and caressing them all, she 
set out for the wonderful stable. 

In the blue-lit enchantment of 
the night, the plain, the rocks, the 
trees, even the grass blades seemed 
stilled by happiness. It was as if 
all things upon the earth were rest- 
ing in delicious calm. But old 
Sephora did not forget that at that 
very hour unjust Nature was per- 
forming acts for which there could 
scarcely be any future reparation; 
she did not forget that at that very 
hour, throughout the great world, 
sick men who were not evil doers, 
sweated with anguish in their 
burning beds; that travelers were 
murdered on the roads; that men 
were tortured by other men; that 
mothers wept over little dead chil- 
dren ; — and that beasts suffered in- 
expressibly without knowing why. 

She saw before her a light, soft, 



The Paradise of Animals 143 

yet so vivid that it paled the moon- 
light. This light came from a 
stable hollowed out in a rock and 
supported by natural pillars. 

Near the entrance the camels 
slept on bended knees in the midst 
of a heap of chiseled or painted 
vases, of baskets of fruit, of heavy 
out-spread carpets and of half open 
caskets in which jewels sparkled 
brightly. 

"What is all that?" asked the old 
woman. 

"The kings have come," replied 
a little man. 

"The kings?" said old Sephora 
frowning. 

She entered the stable, saw the 
Child in a manger and about him 
Mary and Joseph, the three Magi 
kings, the shepherds and husband- 
men with their wives, their sons 
and their daughters and, in a corn- 
er, an ass and an ox. 

"Wait " she said. 



144 Translations 

The three kings advanced to- 
ward the Child, and the shepherds 
drew back politely before them. 
But the Child made a sign to the 
shepherds to approach. 

Old Sephora did not stir. 

The Child placed his little hand, 
first upon the heads of the women 
and girls, because they are better 
and suffer more; then upon those 
of the men and boys. 

And Mary said to them : 

"Be patient; he loves you and is 
come to suffer with you.'* 

Then the white king thought it 
his turn. But the Child, with a 
gentle gesture, called the black 
king; then the yellow king. 

The black king, his hair cut 
short and shining with oil, came 
forward, laughing broadly, and of- 
fered the newborn Babe necklaces 
of fish-scales, pebbles of different 
colors, dates and cocoanuts. 

And Mary said to him: 



The Paradise of Animals 145 

"Thou art not evil, but thou dost 
not know. Try to imagine what 
thy life would be if thou wert not 
king in thy country. Eat no more 
men and do not beat thy subjects." 

The yellow king, with oblique 
eyes, offered silks embroidered 
with fanciful figures, potteries en- 
ameled, as it seemed, with prisoned 
moonbeams, a sphere of curiously 
carved ivory representing the sky 
with its planets and all the animals 
of creation, and sacks of tea gath- 
ered in the good season from select 
bushes. 

And Mary said to him: 

"No longer hide thyself away 
from thy people. Do not believe 
that all wisdom is in thee and in 
thy race. And take care of those 
whose only food is spoiled rice." 

The white king, in military 
dress, ofifered to the Child delicate 
goldsmith's work, weapons chisel- 
ed and engraved, statuettes carved 



146 Translations 

in the semblance of beautiful wo- 
men and purple caskets containing 
the writings of a sage named Plato. 

And Mary said to him : 

"Make no unjust war. Fear 
those pleasures which harden the 
heart. Establish just laws, and be- 
lieve that it is of moment to all and 
to thyself that none be mistreated 
in thy kingdom." 

After the shepherds and the hus- 
bandmen, the Child blessed the 
kings in the order in which he had 
called them. 

Old Sephora thought: 

"That is the reasonable order. 
The Child has begun with those 
who have the most need of his com- 
ing. He makes it clearly under- 
stood that he cares for justice and 
that he will establish its reign, 
whether in this world or in anoth- 
er. His mother, moreover, has 
spoken well. Yet he does not 



The Paradise of Animals 147 

think of all. What will he do for 
the beasts?" 

But Mary understood her 
thought. She turned toward the 
Child, and the Child turned to- 
ward the ass and the ox. 

The ass, thin and mangy, the ox, 
fat enough, but mournful, ap- 
proached the manger and smelled 
Jesus. 

The Child placed one hand on 
the nose of the ox and with the 
other he pressed lightly the ass's 
ear. 

And the ox seemed to smile ; and 
from the eyes of the ass fell two 
tears which were lost in his coarse 
hair. 

At the same time the camels 
which were without quietly enter- 
ed the stable and reached out their 
heads confidingly toward the 
Child. 



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